A Song of Ice and Warm Hearts
by Shadowfang3000
Summary: "He wasn't being fake at all: He was doing it out of love." - Following the arranged marriage of Tryndamere and Ashe, there is a feeling of bitterness in the air between the two opposites. However, they soon find common ground through the ancient songs of their people.


(A/N) Tryndamere and Ashe... One of the only canon shippings xD

Well, as you may already know their marriage was entirely for political reasons. However, I was wondering if it really was just that? :O

Maybe there was no love in it at first. Hell, maybe they downright hated eachother when they wed! Either way, they could've developed a relationship following that. And this fic will hopefully show how that went :P

This is set directly after their wedding, just after they were declared husband and wife.

WARNING: Awkward dialogue, painful poetry, pathetic attempts at being warm and fuzzy and OOC Characters as per usual.

**A Song of Ice and Warm Hearts**

_Disgusting._

That was the first word that came to mind when Ashe saw the brute of a man she stood alongside. In all honesty most Freljord men were rather ugly and sweaty, but this Barbarian seemed a lot worse than most of the Nordic men she knew. Still, fate had seen them pressed into this situation.

"_For the greater good."_

_That's what father would've said._

His grasp on her hand was tight and hot, yet lacked any real gentleness or compassion as he led her down the aisle. The cheers of her kin were loud and numerous, and she couldn't help but smile at their happiness. The constant wars that her people had been forced through had done no good for morale or confidence, and she was glad that they could be happy about something for a change.

_Even at her expense._

The burly man raised her hand high with his in a victorious gesture, instilling the crowd with even more pride as the cheer grew in intensity. He laughed loudly at this, bowing his head at a group of elder warriors that looked upon him with concealed respect.

He let his eyes fall upon her, briefly lost for words as he examined her ceremonial wedding dress. She had an intense urge to tell him to stop staring at her, but it wasn't expected of a Freljord woman to do such things.

The crowd started chanting in unison, a myriad of voices ranging from firm men to squeaky children to elegant women. "Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!"

_Oh, for the love of..._

The hulking mass of muscle complied with a hearty chuckle, bending his legs to be at the same level as the shorter woman. She suppressed a scoff of disgust and complied with the demands of her people.

_He didn't want this either._

_She needed to play along too._

Needing to appear as the weaker of the two primarily for social reasons, Ashe closed her eyes and pursed her lips gently. The brawny king took a firm grasp of her body and held her in a close embrace.

He was surprisingly gentle as he pressed his warm mouth against hers, though just like her he was holding back. Neither of them out stepped their boundaries as the crowd began tossing all manners of flowers and confetti around them. Breaking the kiss, he rested his forehead against hers romantically for a second.

"Sorry." He whispered secretively, to which she rolled her eyes irritably.

Stepping back to take her hand politely once more, he lead the way out through the aisle as the Freljord choir hummed its ancient verse. All royal marriages had them, even though the meaning of the old tongue had been long forgotten.

"Long life for King Tryndamere and his bride! Long life!" A particularly oily elder cheered, a flagon of nordic ale held loosely in his scarred fist. A duo of men pulled him back as he tried to run up to the king to give him a manly hug, much to his embarrassment.

_Ashe recognised him._

_It was his Uncle Renngamoore_.

At the end of the carpeted path sat a luxurious horse and carriage, a duo of Junnlend Coursers acting as the propulsion. The horses were rare in the frost lands, and regarded by many tales and legends as eternally committed allies who would rather die than see the end of the royal family.

Leading her to the entrance of the carriage, he held her hand delicately as she awkwardly stepped up inside. Turning to bow at the crowd, he raised his fist one more time and looked into the skies as if searching for god.

"Long life to my kin, oh brave Freljord!" He roared heroically. The crowd chanted his name in awe as he joined his newlywed wife, the house guard having great difficulty in holding the crowd back.

As they were whisked away in ceremonial fashion, Ashe waved out of the window happily at the loving crowd.

"She's so beautiful!" A teenage boy blushed, captivated by her famed good looks.

"What I'd give to be her!" A girl frowned, wishing to be in the shoes of the Queen.

"She's married such a hunk!" Another girl squealed, the mighty Tryndamere being an obvious source of affection for her.

The cheers eventually died down as the carriage left the crowd behind. Ashe flopped back into her chair with a sigh, the clothing she wore becoming increasingly uncomfortable and tight on her. Tugging her celestial headdress off, she noticed that the king was looking at her with a raised eyebrow, his arms folded and his hand holding his chin.

"What?" She said bluntly, flexing her arms to try and loosen the white cloth. Tryndamere smirked, casting his look out of the window.

"Nothing." He replied stoically, almost sounding bored. Ashe scoffed at this and continued fiddling with her clothing. In contrast he seemed rather comfortable, his newly placed crown perched comfortably atop his head.

They didn't speak for the rest of the journey, the carriage bumping up and down to a beat on the cobbled road.

_Eternity begins with a single step._

_But no one said it was going to be fun._

X

In the end it was all about propaganda. The King and Queen had to look like an ideal couple, at least to the public who knew little of the truth. That was the reason why they'd decided to go on a Honeymoon, presenting theirselves as a normal pair of lovers who gladly followed the traditions of all weddings.

So now they sat in a comfortable log cabin in the highest levels of the mountains, a fire burning in the cobblestone fireplace. The distance between them was large, with him being seated on the large red doublebed and her sitting on a hard sofa with a book in hand.

Tryndamere seemed to be daydreaming; his legs crossed yet his eyes closed peacefully. Ashe politely tried to make as little noise as possible as she turned a page, the calm crackle of the burning timber granting a peaceful atmosphere.

_Peace._

_The reason they wed._

To be honest, she didn't really hate him that much. She just didn't have any real feelings for the man, his hobbies and pleasures usually contrasting hers. Here she was reading a deep and complex novel written by the greatest writer of Valoran, while he instead sat quietly in his own thought.

She'd always loved to read romance novels, often finding the conflicts of two lovers extremely interesting to observe. As a young girl she'd wished that she would star in her own story one day, with her own conflicts and a heroic boy that she loved. Yet fate was a cruel mistress, and she was forced to wed someone she didn't feel for.

_He was probably going through the same issue._

He might've had a lover before. He might've kissed another woman. He may have slept with another woman. He could've planned to wed another woman. But like her, he was commanded by his elders to marry someone he had never met, so the realm could be stable once again.

She cast another look at the barbarian fellow, noticing how different he looked without his armour on. His long raven hair was surprisingly well groomed and washed, and his scarred chest was firm despite the freezing weather.

_He had insisted that she sat close to the fire._

_He was either being a polite gentleman or a condescending fool._

She had come up with her own theories for where his injuries could have originated, owing them to various battles he had lead many a soldier through. He had certainly earned his spurs on the battlefield, and she did respect that.

Turning back to her book, she enjoyed another few pages before Tryndamere opened his eyes. "Enjoying the read?"

"Yeah." She replied blandly, fiddling with the edge of a page impatiently as she read through some bland dialogue. "Should be finished in a bit."

"What's going on?" He asked, trying to start a conversation much to her irritance. She didn't spare him a glance as she read on.

"Currently the male lead is looking for the female lead, who has gotten herself lost in the wilderness without any means to defend herself."

The book wasn't really doing much for her, being one of the writer's worst works in recent times. Still, she was a dedicated fan and would read it through to the end. Tryndamere nodded with a smile, glad that she was occupied with something.

"Good. Hope you enjoy the rest of it." He replied, closing his eyes once more whilst taking a deep breath.

He seemed to be doing some sort of meditating ritual, likely one of those unique to the Barbarians of the North. With his sheer rage on the battlefield being a great contrast to his calmness outside of it, she could only assume that this was mandatory to suppress his rage.

His jaw twitched for a moment as a feeling seized him, a loud cough indicating that something was troubling him. It was likely the resurfacing of a memory in his past, the decimation of his kin being a possible candidate. She looked at him curiously but not really worryingly as he shrugged his shoulders and returned to his meditation. He spared a quick glance in her direction and smiled in embarrassment. "Sorry."

"Don't worry." She said in response.

The novel was reaching its absurd climax, where the male lead is forced to try and scare off a ferocious bear that is attempting to kill his partner. While stories like this did occur in the Freljord from time to time, she couldn't help but find it ridiculous: No one could scare off a bear of these wastes unless they had the divine will of the king behind them.

_Unless..._

Skipping a few pages forward to the epilogue, she audibly scoffed at the ending.

_He was secretly the son of the king?_

Slamming the book closed unceremoniously, she reached down to tuck it under the sofa, leant back and rested her hands on her lap lazily. With her book finished, there was nothing else she could really do, save for talk to Tryndamere.

But there simply wasn't anything she wished to discuss with him. She had never seen him read a good book before, nor involve himself in the practice of archery important to her people. There was nothing between them that they could build a relationship on.

_And they had tried._

Out in public; in the eyes of the people, they did all they could to appear as a normal, happy couple. They'd danced together in the twilight moon, surrounded by soft, fluffy snow freshly settled on the ground. They'd ridden horses together, exploring the vast wastes side-by-side. And now they lived under the same roof, seemingly living a loving life as they dealt with the affairs of a united Freljord.

_All of it was false._

Noticing that the fire was getting lower, Ashe pivoted from her position and stretched over to grab some stacked timber. She fed the flames rather noisily, much to Tryndamere's annoyance.

"Could you be a bit more quiet?" He grumbled, scratching an itch on the end of his nose. Ashe sat back in place, dusting her hands clear of wood scrapings and dirt.

"If I tried to be quiet, I'd burn my hands." She replied, having not been loud on purpose. Tryndamere nodded slowly in understanding and got back to his rest.

_Why didn't that become a conversation?_

They could never hold a full conversation, no matter how hard they tried. Even when they left it open for further contributions, they would either reply bluntly or not answer at all. They were both socially capable; political talks and debates ruling their lives over combat as leaders of warrior tribes. In this new age of diplomacy, even the most barbaric clans such as Tryndamere's needed such skills.

_What she'd give to return to simpler times._

She couldn't help but recall those chanting girls at their wedding, dreaming that one day they could be a queen or princess and wed their own loving gentleman. Oh, how wrong they were.

She'd give away her bow, her books, her looks and her riches, _all of it._

_To be a normal girl._

With nothing left to do, she let her eyes wander to Tryndamere once more. He hadn't moved a muscle, his breaths having quickly diminished from deep inhalations to silent sighs. She couldn't even tell if he was breathing anymore, his body having reached a moment of peace and tranquility. It was an interesting deviation from his usual self, as he often acted as a charismatic and brave soldier in public for the entertainment of his people.

She stared into space for a while, trying to embrace his ritual and find her own peace. However, no matter how hard she tried her fears and anxiety continuously tugged at her mind, preventing her from resting and consolidating them.

Giving up barely seconds after she had started, she flopped down on the sofa to try and get some sleep. Tryndamere had insisted that she have the bed to herself, but she had politely declined. She wasn't some sort of weak flower, and she didn't need his management.

The fire continued to crackle ever more quietly as its fuel died away. Ashe considered tossing more logs into it, but decided against it when she heard another sound.

_Humming._

It was coming from across the room, and since the only life-forms there at the moment were her, her husband and a family of mice that seemed to be housed in the rafters, it was a safe bet that Tryndamere was the source of it.

He still sat still, yet his throat wobbled as he hummed skilfully. It was often said that the Northern Barbarians were masters of vocal music, some orchestras having no actual instruments save for their tongues, hands and necks.

It was a tune Ashe couldn't help but recognise; a simple melody that was rooted in poetry. Her mind scoured through the thick haze of her memory in search for its name, until at last she recalled.

"_Lashing waters, twisting shadows_..." She muttered. Tryndamere raised his eyebrow as he opened an eye, an intrigued smirk growing as locked eyes with her confidently.

"You've heard of it then?" He said, sounding rather excited by this discovery of shared history. She nodded gently, rising from her chair and fixing her creased garments.

"My mother used to sing it with me when I was a girl." She began, slowly closing the distance between them with the tiniest of steps. "I thought it was a song of the Avarosan, I didn't think the Northern realm knew of such verses."

"It's a classic poem of the old Freljord, written long before we were divided into such hostile clans." He sighed, as if reminiscing in days of glory and peace. "Back when the only kills were the prey we hunted together."

_Before this mindless war began._

It was funny, but for some reason this simple exchange was enough to keep Ashe interested. She hadn't sung for many years, her tutor being her mother who had passed away long ago. She longed to try her hand at it once again, and if Tryndamere knew of it?

_They had something in common._

"My memory is a tad bit fuzzy..." She began, staring at her toes. "But perhaps we could continue?"

"Gladly." He chuckled, coughing to prepare himself once more. "From the start?"

"When you're ready."

With that he took a deep breath and began the opening of the song. He held on to deep notes for unbelievable periods of time, his strength comparable to that of a ten-man choir. Eventually he lowered to a gentle hum, opening the way for her lyrics.

"_Lashing waters, twisting shadows, and a sun that never sets." _She whispered angelically. Tryndamere looked as if he was about to go off tune, surprised by her skill and beautiful singing voice. "_Against silver bears and wasteland hawks, do please place your bets."_

She began to pace the room, autonomously circling the bed and approaching him. He expertly hid an intake of breath as he continued his backing, a short pause in the lyrics existing for the vocalist to regain their own composure.

"_For the son of a king." _He suddenly said in between hums, catching Ashe of guard. With a smile she continued, amused by his deep singing voice.

"_And the father of a daughter." _She sung delicately, gesturing for him to continue. He grinned at this opportunity, their words managing to meld together rather tunefully much to his surprise.

"_To bless her with life."_

"_Joy and great laughter."_

"_Through the frosted cascades of pillaging beasts." _He growled heroically, humming loudly as the beat hastened. Ashe held her hands together, trying her hardest to remember the closing line of this section.

"_He will raise her, feed her great feasts." _She smiled, finally recalling the conclusion. Tryndamere clapped his hands in pride, applauding her recollection.

"Nicely done." He started, beating his hands against his knees to continue the backing as he spoke. "Although it's only just begun. Ready?"

She nodded wordlessly, once again trying to search her memories for the continuation of the classic tale. She would usually only sing the first stanza of the tune, but the full poem actually consisted of three.

_She was having fun however._

"Ready when you are, I'll follow your lead." Ashe said, taking a seat at the edge of the bed. Funnily enough, this was probably the closest the two had ever been to each other when out of the public's eye.

_It felt nice being truly friendly._

Once again Tryndamere lead the song, his throat vibrating as he held his notes. The song seemed to adopt various motifs from other folk tunes, giving Ashe a heightened sense of nostalgia as she began.

"_Freljord winds are sharp and perilous." _She began, recalling that her mother would usually say the next bit. Looking into Tryndamere's eyes, he continued without hesitation.

"_But to her?"_

"_Just a pleasure." _She laughed, not even trying to hide a smile. "_The caressing gusts of her motherland fuel her with their tough measures."_

"_To deny yourself of challenges is to deny yourself of glory." _She sung, trying to sound a bit deeper than her usual singing voice. It likely sounded strange, but Tryndamere took nothing of it.

"_Glory." _He echoed quietly, keeping his firmer voice low so Ashe could continue unimpeded.

"_There will be no friendships; there will be no love..." _She paused, suddenly realising who she was with. She broke her stare, a tad bit embarrassed by the topic much to her husband's amusement.

"_A dearest to fight with thee." _He continued for her, grabbing her hand gently. "Keep it up, you're doing brilliantly."

"_A-A man or a woman, your hands in hand." _She stuttered, the warmth of his grip feeling different than usual. _"To bless this world, our sacred land."_

The second stanza was complete, leaving the third and final one to be recited. The fire was on the verge of dying, and Ashe rose to feed it. Yet Tryndamere held her hand delicately but firmly, stopping her from rising.

"Are you cold?" He asked, concerned for his wife's well-being for possibly the first time since they'd wed. She shook her head, gesturing to the stack of fuel.

"The fire is about to go out, we'll both be in a minute if I don't throw some wood in." She grumbled, a tad bit irritated by his rough handling. At the same time she also found it quite interesting, for he was treating her like an equal rather than a weak woman for once.

"We have eachother, don't we?" He smirked, wrapping his arm around her shoulder without announcement. She gasped at this contact, and briefly felt like swinging a fist into his face. However, she had to admit that this contact felt rather nice.

_He wasn't being fake at all._

_He was doing it out of love._

She wasn't entirely fond with being so close to the naked chest of such a large man, but he didn't seem to mind at all. He continued to hum calmly, the vibrations reverberating through her body and sending a shiver down her spine.

"Yeah..." She replied, her grip tightening around his large fists. "I guess we do."

"_Be it a son or a..." _She continued, when suddenly the meaning of the song hit her. As a girl she had always asked her mother what the poem was about, but she had always told her that she'd work it out "When she was older."

_It was a romance poem._

_The creation of a family._

Tryndamere stopped his humming and rubbed her shoulder, believing that she was uncomfortable with something. He spoke in a hushed whisper, as if trying to hide his concerns from the rest of the world. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." She replied rather hastily, trying to hide her realisation from him. "L-Let's start again, from the top."

He complied and hummed once more, the tune conveying new feelings that Ashe had never considered before. Holding a long note, it was time for Ashe to enter the song once again.

"_Be it a son or a daughter, give it nothing but love." _She whispered delicately. "_From the ashes of destruction to the grace of a dove."_

"_Your title shall live on through the strength of your young..." _She slowed, coming to terms with what all of this meant.

_She was going to be a mother soon._

_That's what the realm demanded._

"_Be they farmers, scholars, warriors or none." _Tryndamere reassured, noticing her fearful expression and locking eyes with hers. Seeing him up close in such a different light gave Ashe a new image of the man: He was handsome and kind behind that exterior of a smug soldier and king.

"_N-Nothing but affection, honour and patience." _She sighed, her lips reeling closer to his without even realising it. He seemed to be doing the same, his eyes never straying from hers as her snow-white hand reached out to caress his scarred cheeks.

"_Then." _They said in unison, "_And only then."_

"_Will life have a purpose."_

The song came to its climax there, as the two rested their heads together within their warm embrace. No words were bandied as they breathed gently, their lips lusting for contact with one another. His hands brushed through her silver locks, tickling him with their softness.

_They were about to kiss._

_A real kiss, filled with passion._

But Ashe pulled back, fear filling her. Tryndamere's face clearly showed his disappointment, but he took nothing of it as he spoke. "That was fun. A pity that I didn't bring my lyre."

"You play the lyre?" She asked in surprise, regaining her chilly composure in a matter of seconds. He nodded, smiling at her interest.

"Indeed. Many a day I would play with my friends back home. A pity those days may never come again." He sighed. He noticed that their fingers were still interlocked firmly, and that his hand continued to hold her close. Fearing for her comfort he pulled away, only to be stopped by her grip.

"No, please." She whispered, her smile reflecting a different side of her personality for once. "I-I like this."

He complied with a grin, letting her rest her head against his shoulder. The fire had ceased to be a while ago, yet their combined heat was more than enough to keep them comfortable. Once more they sat in silence, although this time there was no feeling of malice or resent.

_Just peace._

_Calm and tranquil._

"Say." Ashe started, her voice surprising Tryndamere. "Perhaps we can play together again sometime...? I know a few other songs, I could teach you..."

"Of course." He nodded, rubbing her arm soothingly. "It would be an honour, Ashe."

She couldn't help but giggle at this: He'd never actually referred to her by name before, and she liked the way it sounded from him. Content with her predicament for the first time since they wed, she managed to close her eyes and rest in meditation.

Tryndamere took a deep breath alongside her and did the same, the atmosphere completely empty save for the feeling of companionship the two shared.

_Because while ice was stubborn and had its coldness._

_It could always melt away._

X

(A/N): Ugh, that was terrible D:

Still, I hope you enjoyed my portrayal of the relationship between these two. I have a frightful urge to write an awkward lemon between these two, but I don't know...

Oh, and I wrote that poem myself. No wonder it sucks so much! xD


End file.
